“Maybe he didn’t,” retorted Hollister. “But you know that no one called here, for you were down in the library later than anybody else, and the library is near the front door—”
“And I am blind.”
Hollister looked taken aback. “I forgot,” he mumbled. “But you have remarkable hearing—”
“The heavy portières were drawn and I sat in the far end of the library, near the fireplace,” Curtis pointed out. “Also, I was absorbed in my thoughts. I cannot swear that no one was admitted last night.” Hollister took out, examined, and replaced the contents of the drawer before answering.
“It hadn’t occurred to me that some one—some outsider—might have had access to John last night after we left him,” he admitted slowly. “Frankly, I have been haunted by one idea—that the papers were stolen—”
“By whom?” Curtis’ quiet voice gave no hint of the anxiety consuming him as he waited for Hollister’s reply.
Hollister carefully sorted a bundle of papers and put them back in one of the pigeonholes. “By the person who benefited through the disappearance of the documents,” he said, and Curtis frowned at the indirect answer.
“And who is that?” he asked.
Hollister eyed him keenly. “You know as well as I,” he exclaimed roughly. “None other than John’s niece—Anne Meredith.”
Curtis bent the cane in his strong grasp, then let it spring back. “Miss Meredith asked to have you retained as her lawyer,” he said. “As her representative you should be the last person to point suspicion toward her.”